the memories we make
by sempiternal stellae
Summary: — remus's birthdays throughout his years at hogwarts :: non-canon fic in which the marauders don't know about remus :: warning for drunken shenanigans


_Tutshill Tornados, Chaser 1_

 _Prompt: Write about Remus Lupin_

 _(color) cream_

 _(object) - Banana_

 _(dialogue) "If I hear anyone say 'Happy Birthday,' one more time..."_

* * *

His birthday is usually a somber affair, ever since he was six years old, when he'd been bitten by Greyback and diagnosed with lycanthropy. It's tragically unfortunate, but there's really nothing that can be done about it. It's incurable.

But he thanks the stars that he's still alive, even though he has to suffer for the rest of his life.

 _11._

He's glad that he has friends — James, Sirius, and Peter — but he hasn't told him his secret yet. He's not sure if they'll be able to keep it.

 _What if they tell the whole school?_ he thinks, panicked. _What'll happen to me if they do?_

He ultimately decides not to tell them.

So, he's forced to wallow and give his friends a false explanation of his downcast attitude and guilt stirs within his stomach.

 _12._

On his twelfth birthday, Remus finds himself in a celebration that is far too extravagant and far too ostentatious for his tastes.

 _Happy birthday, Remus!_ is embossed on a cream colored banner at the front of the Great Hall, right behind the teachers' table.

As soon as the subject of the banner walks in, firecrackers explode and the hall is showered with golden sparks, raining down on the students like shooting stars. Remus is in awe, and so are his peers, evident by how loud they shout and holler for the magnificent display.

The long, mahogany tables are laden with all sorts of sweet treats and savory meals — including an abundance of chocolate, Remus's favorite sweet — and the hall is full of infectious cheer.

It might be a little over-the-top, but it doesn't matter to him.

Remus turns to his friends, who are standing behind him with the biggest grins. "Did you do this all for _me?"_

"Of course," Sirius says proudly. "We wanted you to have an awesome day. No one should be moping on their _birthday."_

Affection for his friends floods through him like a wave, and he's too grateful to speak. He expresses his appreciation by giving each of them a tight hug.

"Thanks," he says, a lump in his throat.

 _13._

Remus wakes up at six in the morning and is instantly nervous.

It's not that he doesn't appreciate what his friends did for him last year — he does — but he would have preferred to do without the fireworks and school-wide pranks. His twelfth birthday was definitely better than his eleventh one, and even that was better than most of those that came before, since he now has friends.

But still, he wishes that he could tell James and Sirius that no, he doesn't want to blow up all the Slytherins or flood the Great Hall.

 _You could just say those words_ , Remus's inner voice points out dryly. It's kind of a bastard. It doesn't understand that he actually wants to keep the friends he has and that if he doesn't appear to be enjoying himself when they do stuff for him, they're just going to ditch him.

So he does, and if the smile on his face is slightly forced, who cares?

 _14._

Remus is having a freaking mid-life crisis, but he can't tell anyone (well, perhaps, that's a _little_ extreme, but the thought still stands). Sirius apparently decided that it would be a good idea to have the entire male population of Gryffindor try their hand at pole dancing using transfigured chairs, but Remus is getting _entirely_ too into it.

When he notices that he's been staring at James for a little _too_ long, Remus tries to run and hide. But Sirius, the git, decides that he wants to dance with Remus. And if Remus thought that watching James dance was bad, dancing with Sirius is a whole new level of danger. The taller Gryffindor has no problem caressing Remus's skin and, judging by the catcalls of their fellow Gryffs, they are putting on quite the show.

Remus's face burns crimson, and he _needs_ to leave. But amongst the laughter and familiarity, Remus can't quite find the will to excuse himself.

When night finally descends and Remus returns to the comfort of his own bed, he both curses and thanks Sirius for such a good time.

 _He is such a precious douche._

 _15._

Remus is going to _kill_ those gits.

They're only fifteen (James is _fourteen)_ but somehow, they manage to sneak alcohol into the common room.

(Thankfully, Remus has the foresight to put a charm on the punch bowl that prevents the younger students from drinking it. If they even touch the bowl, their skin will break out into boils.)

Now, Sirius is stripping in front of all of the older Gryffindors, all of whom are wolf-whistling and applauding, while the little ones hide in the back, debating whether or not to participate in the festivities.

The party is busted around midnight by Professor McGonagall, who confiscates the punch and gives the Marauders detention for a month.

 _16._

Remus has been dreading his birthday for the past month. Utterly cursing the entire invention of the birthday, while he's at it.

This year, for his sixteenth, it falls on a full moon. He's taken extra precautions this year — he made it clear he wanted no celebration of it to anyone and everyone he met, he expressed deep hatred for his birthday, he even avoided his friends a few days beforehand.

He can take no chances with this.

"Hey, Remus. Where are you going?"

Sirius' question makes him pause the moment before he steps out the door, and sends him scrambling for an answer.

"I, uh…" He draws a blank, before blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. "A friend asked me to stay over tonight."

Sirius blinks. "That's what you're going out for? But your birthday is today — your sweet sixteen!"

"Listen. I've been saying it for what seems like forever. I hate my birthday. So if we could just skip this year…"

"Why do you hate your birthday so much? You want to skip it _every_ year," Sirius shoots back, the hurt on his face apparent. He isn't even trying to conceal it at this point.

Remus storms out the door, unable to stand how hurt he looks. It pains him to do this, but it's necessary. He has to be firm. For him and them. "It reminds me of my existence," he scoffs coldly, rolling his eyes. "I'll see you in a couple days."

Sirius is silent for a moment, clearly hurt by Remus leaving. Finally, he says quietly, "Happy birthday."

And then Remus can't help it. He's too irritated not to. "If I hear anyone say 'Happy Birthday' one more time…" he growls, rubbing his temple, before taking a breath.

And with that, he slips down the hall, towards his safety.

 _17._

Seventeen. The coming-of-age. And to celebrate, Remus's friends decide to throw him a massive birthday bash, complete with all amenities (namely, alcohol).

Remus indulges today—he's allowed to, it _is_ his birthday after all—by downing shots of firewhiskey. He hears people cheering, chanting his name, and his mind is wrapped in a haze.

Somewhere, somehow during the party, he ends up lying in the middle of the common room. He discovers this the next morning, his head throbbing and food stains splattered all over him— _is that a banana peel stuffed in his shoe?_ —and he sits up.

He isn't alone. Several people are sprawled on the floor, groaning and massaging their heads and assessing the aftermath, including Sirius and James.

Remus grins wolfishly ( _that pun is totally intended)._ He might've gotten himself stoned, but he has to admit, he hasn't done anything this _wild_ in his entire life.

He has his friends to blame (and thank) for that.

* * *

 _1294 words_


End file.
